


Black Magic

by ticktockclockwork



Series: The Life and Times of Tick the Tock [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/pseuds/ticktockclockwork





	Black Magic

Sherlock hunted his prey, just a blip of hot blooded human on his radar, detectable amid the hundreds already on the floor. This wasn't his ideal hunting grounds. This wasn't what he wanted to do. But someone had insisted. Brilliant, they said. Just the place to let loose, they said. It would be FUN they said. Fun. Right. The only thing fun about tonight was insulting everyone who had already hit on him. Of course, then there was John. And John quickly became the blip on the radar Sherlock needed to set the night. John was a mousy thing, young, just barely twenty.

Sherlock had seen him around, mostly at the library, carrying around piles of medical journals and encyclopedias for the phD he was working towards. He was short. Stocky, though the build was hidden there, not yet capitalized nor fine tuned. He noticed Sherlock on occasion though Sherlock scarcely made conversation. They might have spoken. Three words max. But tonight was a different story.

A town built around a university was appalling and not at all what Sherlock considered acceptable, but the university had the best collection of forensic files he could find and some less-than-irritating professors so he’d allowed himself a few years here. That was it. He hated it all. But he’d made…colleagues and they’d dragged him out here. He hadn’t spotted John till at least an hour in. Now that was all he cared to focus on.

Clad in old jeans and a too tight black and white striped jumper John looked as unassuming as he acted but his smile made people notice and while he seemed completely oblivious to his charms, the same couldn’t be said for those around him. He was magnetic, simple but confident. People wanted to be around him, wanted to talk to him, and Sherlock could not deny the jealousy bubbling up inside him at the idea. No one wanted to speak to him. Not that he wanted to speak with anyone else anyways. But John was on the move and thus so was Sherlock, pushing away from his wall to slip into the crowd after John.

It was your basic night club, themed night after themed night, with an infinite amount of generic music and cheap liquor. The bodies around him moved and he quietly realized he had no rhythm. He wasn’t a dancer. This wasn’t his forte. Neither was John, he could tell, but the blonde was laughing nonetheless, enjoying the activity. Sherlock moved and tucked in behind him, licking his lips.

“Hey.” He called out over the music and John turned to look, smiling brilliantly in a way Sherlock had yet to see. Something was in his system. Sherlock wanted it in his own as well.

“Hey you. I know you. It’s you.” He was laughing. Face flushed. Sweat on his brow. Ecstasy. Interesting.

“Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. And you’re John Watson.” John laughed and Sherlock set his hands on unrelenting hips.

“Aye. I am. How’d you know?” He chuckled and rested back against Sherlock’s chest.

“Lucky guess.” He leaned in and tucked his face against his neck. “You’re high.” He observed.

“Hah. I sure hope so. Else I’m doing something wrong!” Sherlock had to smile at that. Oh yes. John Watson was a keeper. 

How they ended up in the alley behind the club with John’s legs wrapped around his waist and Sherlock’s hands grabbing his ass, he would never be able to tell you. But there they’d ended up and there they were enjoying a good snog. John was a giggling mess and Sherlock would have given up on him altogether if his tongue hadn’t done that crafty thing back then on the dance floor.

The drugs in his system were not planning to wear off any time soon and the heightened senses were making John the touchiest motherfucker in all of England. Sherlock couldn’t complain too much. Though he would have to wear more scarves now to hide the deep bruises on his neck that looked suspiciously like teeth marks.

“You’re coming home with me tonight.” He said so matter-of-fact and John, bless his soul, was wise enough not to laugh and instead nod his head.

“Call us a cab, Sherlock Holmes.” He said, then laughed anyways, arching and wiggling and driving Sherlock mad. The taxi couldn’t get there fast enough and when Sherlock threw John down in the back seat and crawled atop him, it was all he could do to wrench his face away and spit out his address.

“221B Baker Street. And make it fast.”


End file.
